


I got cat class and I got cat style

by brightbulbs



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Cat being a Cat, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-05 00:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbulbs/pseuds/brightbulbs
Summary: Mickey acquires a cat by accident as he attempts to rebuild his life in Mexico.





	I got cat class and I got cat style

Everything is a little bit _fuzzy_ when Mickey Milkovich stirs from his slumber.

Mickey doesn’t remember much from the night before. He was feeling a little low, a little self-loathing, and maybe he drank a little too much. As he let out a breath he had been unconsciously holding, the colorful shapes dotting his vision took on actual form in his one room apartment. He rubbed the last bit of blurriness out of his eyes, and assessed the situation before him.

There are three things he could tell right away. His bare chest was marked with still-tender red lines, his jaw was throbbing, and there was a warmth pressed against his stomach emitting soft sleepy sounds. There was definitely someone in his bed. Mickey cursed to himself, hoping that his sloppy sappy self from the night before didn’t drag some random home.

He wasn’t ready for that or the inevitable morning confrontation. It took another moment to realize that the soft sleep sounds weren’t coming from human lips. In fact, they didn’t sound like soft sleepy sounds at all. They sounded like the low purr of a vibrator, except this vibrator was soft and round. Scratch that, there wasn’t someone in his bed. It was _something_.

His body moved faster than his mind and he jerked off the bed, legs kicking sheets of white chaotically about him as he fell. A loud hiss emitted from underneath the sheets as Mickey laid on the floor. Mickey’s heart pounded in his chest and his shaky hands reached out. Lifting the sheet up, he was met with the very bright very big green eyes of an orange tabby who was readying itself to pounce.

 

* * *

 

Mickey sat at his small kitchen table, softly touching the raised scratches on his cheek.  He hissed from the touch of his own hand, and glared at the feline who sat on the chair opposite of him, tail swishing back and forth. “Look, I don’t know how the fuck you got here,” Mickey said, “but I didn’t say you could stay.” He got up, walked to the front door, opened it, and stood glaring at the cat.

“Go.”

The cat lifted its paw and began to lick, ignoring Mickey’s command. Mickey sighed, coming back over to the table. He jerked the chair the cat sat in slightly. “C’mon. Move it,” he said, but the cat simply steadied itself as the chair moved back and forth and stared at him again with its wide eyes. Exasperated, Mickey closed his eyes and counted to ten.

Except counting did nothing to remedy the situation. The cat was still there, licking its paw some more as if to mock Mickey’s failed attempts at removing it from its seat. Mickey slumped back into his chair and covered his eyes with his palms. _This wasn’t happening_. He groaned internally. Alright. Alright, alright, alright. Alright!

 

* * *

 

It had been a while since Mickey had been in a pet store. His family had a cat. Well, it was more like a neighborhood cat who occasionally slept on their porch and used the litter box that Mandy bought for the thing. The few times Mickey stepped foot in a pet store, it was to lift food. He couldn’t do that shit anymore, not without calling too much attention to himself.

Fortunately, he did find a couple hundred bucks worth in tips leftover on his dresser. It would have been more, if Mickey didn’t drink so much last night. Tending bar is usually just that, tending bar, but the bar was full of happy couples on spring break and optimistic hopefuls trying to get lucky with local girls. The whole thing made Mickey sick, so drinking was about all he could do to escape that situation.

He pocketed the money, and googled for a pet store in the area. After going back and forth between English and Spanish via translator, he found a store six blocks from his one bedroom apartment. He looked back at the cat, who was now curled up on the couch. As much as Mickey wanted to be left the hell alone, a part of him worried about what would happen to the fur ball if left out on the street. 

"Alright, stay here you furry asshole," Mickey cringed, shaking his head. That didn't sound right. He closed the door behind him, and made his way to the pet store. 

 

* * *

 

Mickey walked past the sliding glass doors of the small pet store, only to be confronted by loads of colorful signs written in a language he could not effectively read. His Spanish skills were basic at best, enough for him to land a job serving mostly English speaking tourists and to pay his bills -- though he had to translate that too, and reading that kind of shit in English was difficult enough. 

Mickey gathered up the courage to approach the man sitting at the counter reading a magazine. He practiced a few phrases he had looked up online beforehand, and hoped for the best. He knew it was going to sound broken and mangled, but at least it could point him in the right direction. Standing before the man, he cleared his throat. 

The man looked up at him with brown eyes. He sat up from the counter, standing a few inches taller than Mickey. His wavy hair was tied up in a bun. The guy looked pretty decent -- some would even say attractive, but the short red vest he wore over his uniform looked dorky. Mickey glanced at the man's name tag to avoid eye contact. It read "Arturo."

“Uh… dónde está… uh… la comida para…? para gatos?” Mickey asked, feeling insecure about his pronunciation. 

Arturo furrowed his brows, looking at Mickey a little closer. It made Mickey feel self conscious. Did he say it wrong? Was the man horrified by his cat scratched face?

"You look familiar," Arturo says.

"Um," Mickey stammers, "you-ah, you speak...?"

"Oh! I know, you!"

"Yes?"

"I saw you! Last night," the man laughed to himself, "You were outside! El gatito callejero -- you pick him up. He scratch the hell out of you!"

"What... why? Why would I do that?" 

"I dunno, but damn you looked, muy borracho..."

Mickey looked at him confused.

"Wasted, man. I live across the street," Arturo replied, "went out for a smoke last night. Saw you picking that cat up," He motions picking up the cat with his hands. "I think were crying a little."

 "I -" Mickey was still a little fuzzy, but some of his memories floated back to him. In particular, an image of himself sobbing into soft orange fur came back to him. He swiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. So, that's what happened. God, he had to stop drinking. He was always does stupid shit when he drinks too much. "Uh, well I... well you see I have a cat now."

"Right," Arturo shook his head, "you'll need a few things, but we'll start with food. Right this way." He moved from behind the counter, and put his hand on Mickey's shoulder to usher him towards the cat food. Mickey followed quietly behind Arturo, but the sudden silence between them felt awkward. Mickey scrambled to fill it. 

"So, your English is pretty good," Mickey said as they came to a stop in front of a shelf of colorful bags. Arturo looks back at him, snorting "Ah, thank you -- your Spanish isn't terrible, I guess."

"Sorry," Mickey half-mumbled under his breath, "I don't really know how to fucking do this."

"Do what?" Arturo smiled at him, without judgment. 

"Oh, uh..." Mickey paused awkwardly, "talk to people I guess."

"My mom is American," Arturo explained, easing into conversation. "My dad owns a small company here. They're divorced. I moved back here after going to school in America."

"Oh," Mickey nodded in understanding.

"So, where you from? What brought you here?" 

"It's complicated," Mickey said. He was definitely not ready to have that conversation with anyone. He was definitely not going to have that conversation with anyone at all ever. "So, what do you recommend" Mickey points at the colorful bags of food in front of him.

 

* * *

 

Arturo checked the items out for Mickey at the counter, and handed them over to him in several paper bags. Mickey checked his receipt, noting a handwritten number on the back. 

"Listen, that cat -- you're going to have to get him checked out at the vet," Arturo started, "I can help you set up an appointment. I can go to the appointment with you if you want..."

"Thanks," Mickey said, a blush creeping onto his face. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Yeah, just call me and I'll help ya."

Mickey stared at the receipt in his hand. "Yeah, okay. I will. Thanks."

Mickey exited the small shop, and headed back to his small apartment.

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey opened the door to his apartment. The cat was no longer sitting on the couch, and it seemed eerily quiet.

"Hey cat," Mickey yelled. "Cat..." Shit. The cat probably speaks Spanish. "Um... Gato...? Donde es-- Where the fuck are you?"

He stood in his bedroom. No cat. He stood in his kitchen. No cat. If he went through all this shit and that cat wasn't there, he was going to lose it. He opened the bathroom door, and the orange tabby strolled right out not giving a single fuck. 

"Oh thank fuck," Mickey sighed in relief. "I mean, oh -- you're still here."

The cat walked back over to the couch, hopped on top, and began to lick its fur. 

"What the shit am I going to do with you?" Mickey placed the bags of cat supplies on the dining table. He pulled out the receipt Arturo handed him earlier, and bit his lip. 

"Damn it." 

 


End file.
